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SOME 
FEW VERSES 




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CLINTON JOSEPH MASSECK 



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UBRARYofOONariE$S 
Two Copies R«ce)vtw 

0£C 24 1907 
p^i<^ /a <'^<?7 

OLASS^ XXc. Wo. 
COPY B. 



Copyrighted, 1907 
by C. J. Masseck 









To 
A. L. D. 



FOREWORD 



^ I 'HESE verses have not been written and 
■*• thus printed with the expectation, or 
even the desire, for that matter, that the 
world at large should peruse them and hail 
them with ]oy. Rather have they been 
written for my o-wn satisfaction and pub- 
lished on the same score. Primarily, as 
scrutiny of any sort -will proclaim, they are 
first efforts and should so be judged. 
My inspiration has been received from vari- 
ant sources, but I must at least acknowledge 
the debt I o-we to certain of the world's 
noblest, such as Keats, Sydney Lanier and 
others of that great company. I must fur- 
thermore make note of my comradeship 
■with C. H. D., whose unfailing appreciation 
of all in Nature has taught me ne-w aspects 
of Beauty, never before understood, and 
whose even and ]ust criticism has ever been 
most helpful. Lastly to my dear parents 
and to "A. L." I must speak a word of grat- 
itude for the encouragement -which they 
al-svays bestowed upon me in my estimation 
of the better things of Life, out of which esti- 
mation were born these slight verses of mine. 

C. J. M. 



The CALL of THE SEA 



O 



H, COME ! Oh, come this eve and search the sand. 
The ever-stretching sand. 
The never-ending sand. 
And watch where breaks the spray 
Of the sea upon the narroAV lip of the land. 
The hungry land of gray. 



Full runs the tide ; fierce blow^s the gale this night, 
God help the souls this night, 
God help the souls this night. 
Who never more -will roam 

The seas ; w^ho never more will have the sight 
Of friends and distant home ! 

Oh, long -we w^atch and search along the sand. 

The moving, shifting sand. 

The sobbing, moaning sand, - 

And -where, this night, is cast 
The dead - all stark and cold - upon the land. 

To find their rest at last ! 



Ike SONG of THE TRAPPER 

I 

▼"'ROM out of the woods to the North, I come. 
The great, green woods of spruce. 
And o'er my back are tightly slung 
My furs and pelts of moose. 

Full twenty days on the trail Ive come 

^^ith ne'er an hour held back ; 
With eager hopes I seek the town. 

To sell my bursting pack. 
The job "was hard, - from Winter's icy grasp 

My scanty profits won. 
But Spring is here, - the snow has gone. 

By faith ! My work is done ! 
And then I've a lass at the fort. 

As sprightly as a fawn, 
W^ith straight black hair and dusky skin. 
And lips red as the dawn. 
So out of the woods to the North, I come. 

The great, green woods of spruce. 
And o'er my back are tightly slung 
My furs and pelts of moose. 



Tke SONG of THE TRAPPER 

II 

Now back again to the hills I come. 

To the hills beyond the sun. 
While o'er my back are tightly slung 
My traps and rusty gun. 

My reckless soul its song has sung 

In deeds of lustful rout. 
To every town on the river I've been. 

Each one has driven me out. 
My bonnie girl has left me, too. 
When all my cash had fled. 
But what care I for straight, black hair. 

Or lips however red ? . . . 
But long's the trail, and scarce begun 

That leads to the woods of green. 
Yet it's good to Northward bound 

W^here's cold the wind, and keen. 
So back again to the hills I come. 

To the hills beyond the sun, 
W^hile o'er my back are tightly slung 
My traps and rusty gun. 



A SONG of THE SPRING 



'HE wistful whisper of the breeze 

Of springtime's night is stirring round 

And do-wn the ghostly aisles of dreams 
The gentle chatter of the streams 
Comes floating, halting, like the sound 
Of children's prattle, through the trees. 

The soft wind speaks the heart of the wood. 
Of many a thing that lives and sings 

Within the shadow^s, so misty dim. 
Where the gray o^vl -whoops ; at the rim 
Of the sky, the song of the night bird rings. 
And sings again the spring night's mood. 



The night time, the dream-time of spring is going. 

The half moon hangs low in the blue-gray arches 
Of earth and sky ; and through the larches 

That top the hill, the sun is glowing. 



The REVERIE 



FULL brims my heart to-night ; too full it brims with 
memories dear 

Of by-gone days, - those days of passion deep when thou wert 



Those days were long, - ah ! long ago, - but brightly burns the 
lamp 

Of memory still. Again I kiss thy face, - dear face, - all damp 

With gladsome tears ; again at dusk I sit alone -with thee 

And -watch the dark of night steal in, far o'er the silver sea. 

For now I am an old and life-worn soul, but still of thee 
I dream and dream all time. Oh ! come, I beg, again to me. 
For then we'll sail the purple sea of dreams to that far land 
Of Yesterday ; and there, dear heart, upon that golden strand 
MVe'll live, - and yes ! again at dusk I'll sit alone with thee 
And vi^atch the dark of night steal in, far o'er the silver sea. 



OUT IN THE DUSK 



O 



I 

UT in the dusk. 
In the mist-purpled air. 
Wait I for thee 
By the trysting tree, 
S"weetheart so fair. 
While low lulls the wind through the leaves. 
And the flute-throated thrush in the wood 
Throbs his sobbing note to the breeze. 

II 

Tender -with love. 

In the mist-purpled air. 
Meet ^ve this night. 
In the faint tw^ilight, 
S-weetheart so fair, 
W^hile softly the wind dies away. 
And the flute-throated thrush in the wood 
Pipes his song of the soft-fading day. 



OUT IN THE DUSK 



III 

Parting must come. 

In the mist-purpled air, - 
Here's an end to bliss 
And the last, long kiss, 
S-weetheart so fair. 
For lone gleams one star in the west. 
While hushed is the thrush in the wood 
And the singer gone to his nest. 




A FRAGMENT 



X LOVE thee, soul of mine ; 'tis thee 

I'd seek, across the years, beyond the sun and sea. 
To press thee close to me, - full breast to breast 
In throbbing ecstasy ! 



The CHANSON D" AMOUR 

From the French of Victor Hugo s ''Ruy Bias"' 



O 



H, WHY, my Love, why list to the song 
That rings from the woodland bird. 
When in thy voice the tenderest 
Love-note of all is heard ? 

The stars may gleam, the stars may dim. 

As God may deem it right ; 
But in thine eyes" clear depths there burns 

The star of brightest light. 

The garden blooms beneath the spell 
Of the drenching April shower; 

But in thy heart alone there lives 
The purest, sweetest flower. 

This bird that sings of passion pure ; 

This star that burns above ; 
This flower that lives within the heart ; - 

They all spell perfect love ! 



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Ike DOUBTER PRAYS 



y^^H, GOD, I pray to be like other men! 
^"■^ Let me behold Thy face, let me but hear 

Thy word ! But give me passion strong and dear ; 
The strength to see beyond this boundless fen 
Of doubt, where things do move outside my ken. 

And w^here I grope alone in darkness drear; 

On lips that should be kind the mocking leer 
I see. Oh, what shall be my judgment then ? 
I knew that Christ did bear the Cross, - must I 
A cross as heavy bear of doubt, and ban 

Of people's taunts ? I beg for pure insight. 
For pity deep, and tender love from man. 
My brother dear. Oh, must I question why. 

And wherefore long, yet never see Thy light ? 



ON READING KEATS 



•'""VH, wondVous Keats, thou brother god with Pan, 
^*^ Thou glorious singer, -would that thou wert here, 

MVith pipe and lute, to cheer the -world, so drear. 
With smoke of trade ; thou couldst lift the ban 
That no-w o"er-shades and chokes the verse of man ; - 

Thou kne-w the depth of Truth, thou -w^ert the seer 

W^ho felt the spell of Beauty far and near. 
And Beauty being there, thy song began ! 
Yes, thy pure spirit kne-w not the taint 
Of gold and sordid things, - thy in-ward eye 

Sa-w but that pageant bright, of peace and strife. 
Of teeming earth and ever arching sky, - 
Till thy soul responding, did bid thee paint 

In verses immortal, this glorious life. 



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TO RICHARD JEFFERIES 



f^'' AH, poet, thou one of fields and woods, thou son 

Of wind-s'wept, sun-kissed do\vns, who loved the earth 
And sky, the -whole deep universe ; - thy birth 
In life was quite beyond the common run 
Of men ; thy soul with Nature's soul was one, - 
For thou at dusk did love to hear the mirth 
That d-wells within the throstle's song, since worth 
Of life, for thee, in Nature, vi^as sought and won. 
Ever and forever thy message goes 
To greet those men -who love the earth and sea. 

Who feel vi^ith thee and Thoreau dear, that Life 
Doth dwell in Nature's heart, and Destiny 
And Truth belongs to him alone w^ho knov^^s 

The ^Vay and looks beyond earth's petty strife. 



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ON MY MOTHERS PORTRAIT 



r I 'HIS portrait is my mother s face ; quite right. 
It is a handsome face, - the hair of gray. 
Those well set eyes, - quite dark they are in day. 
At dusk, a glowing, hazel hue, yet night 
Or day, within their tender depths, the bright 

Pure lamps of love doth show to me the way 
Across the Sea of Life. They seem to say 
"Keep this and unto you -will come the Light ! " 
And so I love thee, mother, with love that rings 
So true, - beyond the reach of -words ; I kno-w 

I am thy blood of blood, thy bone of bone. 
But still I crave to have the strength to show 
The same rare spirit for the Truth of Things, 

And hope and years to live as thou hast done. 



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